


with a capital D

by DevilishKurumi



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking, Foot Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 10:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2064714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(takes place during "Going Downklok")  Pickles helps separate Toki and Murderface, which goes about as well as it can when you're dealing with desperate men who will jump anything they can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with a capital D

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO the first part of this im pretty confident about , but i am NOT GOOD at writing Toki so please forgive the massive influx of extra s's and shit in his dialogue. basically i wrote this because 1) nobody seems to be taking advantage of toki in skates and pink underwear and 2) i wanted to write some porn from Toki's pov since that seems to not be super common either. uhhh other than that it's just weird porn i wrote while my computer was in the shop for a month.
> 
> I HOPE YOU LIKE IT feel free to leave comments too i like comments a lot :>

            There's nothing like one bandmate trying to sexually assault another to snap Pickles out of a sex-starved haze of frenetic prophesy. He forgets all about his warnings, about getting shot down by the only chick on board, about the moment when he literally felt his mind shriveling over the lack of friendly hands getting him the fuck _off already_ -

            Okay, he doesn't _forget_ about it, but it all takes an abrupt backburner as he and Nathan wrangle the two apart - at first, Toki had been too shocked to actually react, but then he'd gone at Murderface with a knee to the junk and a punch in the gut, and despite sliding around on his skates he's done a pretty good job of defending himself.

            Nathan is _roaring_ at Murderface, his own frustrations turning him into the fucking Hulk. He has a hand on Murderface's neck like he's picking up a kitten, and he's shouting, " _What the fuck is wrong with you_!"

            "Ohs my gods," Toki says, swaying on his skates, the immediate rush to defend himself leaving him kind of shell-shocked. Pickles doesn't blame him; Murderface trying to cop a feel would leave anyone cold.

            "I think we should go fer a walk," he says to him, and when Toki doesn't immediately react, Pickles goes ahead and puts a hand on his arm. With the way Murderface is yelling incomprehensible slurs and gesturing at Toki, he's got a feeling that distance would be a good thing to put between them. "C'mon, kid, let's give Nathan room ta work."

            Nathan _growls_ at that, and Pickles really hopes he doesn't try pulling that shit around Abigail because everyone's a sucker for his big, terrifying noises. Toki nods vaguely and lets Pickles pull him to the door. He remembers the lip at the last second and steps, sliding on wheels until Pickles can steady him and pull the door shut behind them.

            Immediately, Skwisgaar starts yelling and Murderface starts yowling and Nathan's voice raises to such an amazing volume that Pickles can clearly hear him snarling, " _You don't fuck your bandmates!_ "

            "You okay there, Toki?" Pickles asks, still holding on to his arm because he doesn't seem to be doing so great at the whole moving-by-himself thing. The skates are actually coming in handy here.

            Toki nods slowly, waiting until they're out of earshot of the fight boiling in the rec room to say, "Murdersface ams _fucksed up_."

            "Yeah, well, he's Murderface." Pickles looks over his shoulder as he considers, "Looks like we're gonna need another padlock for his closet door."

            "What ams he lockings in his closet?" Toki asks.

            "Uh, nothin', dude. It's a metaphor, don't worry about it."

            Even though he looks like he _wants_ to worry about it, Toki manages to not focus on the idiom and goes back to talking about how fucked up Murderface is. "He ams gots no sense of personals space, yous knows that’s? He was followings me arounds and I was goings to lets it goes, but _nows_..."

            "We're all strung up by our dicks, dude," Pickles replies, still guiding Toki somewhere without knowing _where_. Either Toki doesn't care or likes not having to walk, because he's not doing anything to get Pickles to let go of his wrist. "I mean, not that I'm on _his_ fuckin' side or nothin', I'm just sayin'. Ain't _that_ surprisin' that he flipped his lid like that."

            "I _guess_ ," Toki pouts. Pickles avoids looking directly at his face because he knows he's doing that lip thing that's most definitely not something he should focus on in these depths of sexual despair. He's already gotten _this_ close to fantasizing about Nathan's gigantic dick - he really does _not_ need the inspiration to strike with Toki.

            "I hopes Nathans doesn't kills him," Toki says, pulling Pickles out of his potentially terrible thoughts.

            "Nah, he won't. We need the fucker."

            Toki's silent for a little bit and Pickles looks over his shoulder at him, now that he's kind of pulling himself along. He seems to be enjoying not having to actually do any walking, though. Pickles is pretty sure Toki's completely spoiled. He'd probably let klokateers carry him on their shoulders so he wouldn't have to do any hard work - not that Pickles wouldn't _totally_ do that, but he'd want some kind of platform or something. Like emperors and shit had. That'd be _awesome_.

            Pickles is too busy fantasizing about not having to walk anywhere ever again to notice the "mind your step" signs, and since he doesn't see the signs, he doesn't know to watch his feet as he accidentally trips over a thin lip where a bulkhead used to be. It's the most ungraceful thing he's ever done, and the only thing that saves him from faceplanting is the fact that Toki grabs his wrist and yanks him back up. He spins on his heel and, okay, the most embarrassing fall of his life might've been averted if only the two of them had remembered the whole tractionless wheel situation on Toki's feet.

            They go down practically ass over teakettle, and Pickles feels it when the breath gets knocked right out of him - first when he hits the ground, and then when Toki's entire muscle mass collapses right on top of him. Pickles tries really hard to count out the multiple ways he just embarrassed himself in the last ten seconds of his life, but that shit's kind of hard when you have a built Norwegian motherfucker crushing you in tighty-whites and a cut off.

            Toki is a mess of limbs on top of him, his skates failing to catch on the ground in as he struggles to not crush Pickles to death under him. For one dazed, long moment, Pickles thinks, _boy, this motherfucker is heavy_ , like a parent only just realizing how big their kid's gotten. But Toki is hunched over him, one knee planted between his legs, wearing that stupid tight bullshit, and - oh, no. This is not a road he wants to go down. He really, really, _really-really-really_ does not want to go this way.

            Toki can't get off of him. He's too panicky and awkward-limbed to do shit properly, apologizing every time his skate brake slips and plants his knees back to the ground. Pickles isn't able to find it in himself to help. He doesn't even want to _move_. If he does, he's going to do something he'll definitely regret later. "Toki," he rasps, trying to say, you know, maybe he should take off his skates before he really hurts someone, but all the words catch in his throat when Toki's eyes meet his. He watches, as though in slow motion, as Toki slides his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes raking over Pickles in a way that makes him feel like a piece of meat.

            It's really hot. He hasn't had anybody look at him like that in months. _Years_ , if he's being honest with himself, but when has honesty ever done shit for anyone?

            "Fuck," he growls, and then he grabs Toki by that ridiculous ponytail of his, holding him still as he surges up to clack their teeth together.

            It's not really a kiss - there's too much teeth and not enough lip - but Toki moans into his mouth and throws his weight down, rolling his hips and grinding down against Pickles' thigh. They rub against each other in short, jerky movements, Pickles swallowing any noises Toki makes that would otherwise echo through the hall. "Fuck," he hisses again, Toki's hips rolling little half circles that press the heavy bulge in his underwear into the soft meat of Pickles' thigh. His head falls back against the metal floor. "Toki," he pleads, and this time it's different, because Toki has a truly predatory look in his eye, his hands clenched into fists on either side of Pickles' head as he tries to find the right kind of friction.

            His expression starts to ease into something more anxious, their frantic movements coming to an abrupt stop as they realize what the fuck they're getting themselves into. Pickles doesn't care. He really, really fucking doesn't, as long as Toki keeps grinding his dick up and keeps pressing his thigh into his crotch. "Dude," he gasps, "Don't stop _now_!"

            "I - ...reallys?"

            "Fuckin'... " Pickles raises his hips significantly, pressing his dick up into Toki's perfect goddamn abs and moans, a quiet, long little thing he perfected back in the eighties for dudes who were hesitant to get it on. It never failed then, and he can see from the way Toki's pupils are blown wide that it's doing its job now, too. "I don't give a shit, Toki," Pickles announces, pulling out all the stops with heavily lidded eyes and rolling hips, "As long as you fuckin' _get me off_ , I don't give a shit about _nothin'_."

            "Oh." Toki doesn't look completely sold on the idea, so Pickles twines Toki's hair around one hand, pulling him down until their foreheads are touching, and he watches his eyes as he reaches his other hand between them, pressing the heel of his palm against Toki's dick. " _Oh_ ," he whines, abruptly grinding into Pickles' hand, and when their mouths meet this time, it's a whole lot more like kissing.

            Toki's a biter. Pickles wouldn't have pegged him for it, but here he is, with his lower lip between Toki's teeth and half-feral growls rolling up his throat, and it's only the clanging of a far-off door that snaps them out of it.

            "Shit," Pickles murmurs. "Shit. _Shit_."

            "We's can't be heres," Toki whines, still rubbing his package against Pickles' hand. "I -"

            "We need'a fuck, dude," Pickles cuts him off, thinking he means to back away before shit gets even more out of hand - which, yeah, probably would be a good idea, but the only person he'd considered approachable had turned him down and his brain has been forcibly detoxing so now it's pretty much overdosing on his sex drive. He can't back away from this. He's pretty sure he'll _die_ if he does that. "We need - _I need_ -"

            "Shh." Toki's listening like a dog with his ears perked, trying to pick out if they're being approached or not. Finally, he looks down; his eyes are so fixated on Pickles' own that he has to look away, twisting his neck to try and get an upside-down look of the corridor beyond. He sucks in a sharp breath when Toki's teeth rest against his earlobe.

            " _Ohhh_ , boy, you do _not_ know what yer doin'," Pickles warns, his voice cracking when he feels the tip of Toki's tongue trace the edge of his earlobe.

            "Mm," Toki breathes, and Pickles is pretty sure he might come in his fucking pants. "I thinks I does."

            "Up," Pickles growls, turning his head, their noses pressing together and eyes locking. "Up, up, we need'a - _fuuuck_ , we need'a go somewhere an' you needa pound the fuckin' Irish outta me."

            Toki stares like he just got clubbed upside the head with a 5-iron and Pickles grins wide at the tremor that visibly shakes its way through his muscles, squirming beneath him, pecking his lips and cheeks and nose with kisses before resting his head against the metal and tapping into every resource his hair metal days have left to him. "I'll suck yer cock," he offers.

            "Ah, _fucks_ ," Toki snarls, and he mashes their mouths together one last time, trying to map out his molars before he shoves away, sex depravation driving him to his feet before either of them realize his skates shouldn't be so easy to get to after all this. He grabs Pickles' arm and hoists him up, rolling backwards.

            Pickles lets the forward momentum push him into Toki's space, and Toki rolls until he hits the wall. They stand pressed together for a solid minute, Toki grinding his dick against Pickles' stomach until Pickles spots a door off their left. He grips Toki's arm and pulls, listening to the wheels squeak; it should be ridiculous, but it's making it easier to haul him around so Pickles isn't going to complain.

            The door scrapes open, and the utility closet is stacked with crates; when Toki picks his feet up and slips over the door's lip, Pickles tugs the door shut, leaving them in total darkness. "Aw, shit," Pickles whispers, and then he feels Toki's mouth on his, his hands gripping his shoulders so tight that his nails are going to leave indents through his shirt. He feels out Toki's abs in the darkness, running his palms down until he can circle around and grabs his hips to keep him from rolling away. "Should I find a light?" he asks, the words half swallowed by Toki's mouth. "I can, uh -"

            "Nots yets," Toki murmurs. "You ams gonna help me takes off my skates, first."

            "Easier t'do that with some light," Pickles grouses, but the insistent push of Toki's hands on his shoulders clues him in that this is about more than just his skates. He grins and bends his knees, pausing to lick a wet stripe up Toki's throat, feeling his head tilt back with an unintentional gasp.

            "Don't gotta be coy if _that's_ what ya want," he says, and he drops to his knees slow, hooking his fingers over the elastic of Toki's pink-dyed tighty-whities. He has to admit, he can see what got that closet case of a bassist so riled up. "Damn, Toki - you _seriously_ didn't fuckin' see what you were wearin' this whole time, did ya?"

            His eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness; he can make out Toki's eyes in the dark, just enough to see them staring down at him from above. "Didn't's thinks about it," he whispers. "I'm sorrys."

            God help him, he sounds kinda fucking sincere about that. Pickles presses an open mouthed kiss to Toki's hipbone. "Don't worry about it. I'm not complainin'." And he really isn't. Admittedly, before about ten minutes ago he hadn't really thought about his bandmate's hotness more than any of the others, and he never really ranked them by degree of fuckability, you know, out of respect. But _now_ , with Toki's flat abs and perfect thighs and his bitten lips staring him in the face, Pickles is _really_ okay with the shrunken pink clothes and the high ponytail. He refrains from going into detail, out loud or otherwise, and just sticks to pulling Toki's underwear down enough to pull out his dick.

            " _Wow_ ," he whistles, only a little ashamed of how he practically salivates at the sight of it - Toki's not particularly _insane_ or anything, but his cock is the most perfect thing he's seen in _months_. He thinks he might cry. "Toki," he says, "Toki, I fuckin' _love_ your dick right now."

            "Ifs you loves it so, gives it a kiss," Toki replies, whispering with only a little hesitation; Pickles isn't used to Toki having a quick wit, and it throws him for a loop, leaving him staring up in surprise until Toki's feet slide back just a little, an unconsciously uncomfortable move that Pickles counteracts by wrapping an arm around Toki's hips, hand resting just at the small of his back.

            "Plannin' on doin' more than _kissin' it_." He feels the shiver down Toki's spine at his rough voice; the way the muscles in his legs flex as he tries to keep still drives Pickles on. He mouths against Toki's hip and then up the shaft of that perfect goddamn dick, listening to Toki's breath hitch and whine its way out of his lungs.

            The way he's sitting pulls the fly of his jeans tight across his own erection and he pulls away for a moment, just long enough to get Toki to whisper his name as he unbuttons and unzips, groaning quietly as he pulls his dick out of his underwear for some goddamn breathing room. He sighs in relief and then gets his mouth back on Toki's cock, sealing his lips around the head and swiping his tongue across the slit. Toki shudders and groans, one hand pressed against the back of Pickles' head as the other clenches and knocks against the metal wall, fingers curling along the jutting lip of the door.

            "Please," he whines, "It's nots gonna lasts that longs..."

            Pickles feels his cock twitch in his mouth and he knows that's not an underestimation, wrapping his fingers around the base and sliding his mouth down the shaft, tongue flexing against the underside of Toki's dick as he whines and rolls his hips, gentle little undulations that Pickles knows are a show of restraint. He can feel his own dick practically fucking waving in the air for attention, but he knows better than to try jacking off after all the shit they'd gone through over that. He can wait another two minutes.

            Except, it might not even _be_ two minutes, because Toki is trembling from head to toe, feet struggling to find purchase with the skate wheels, and one good suck could probably end this right now. Pickles swallows around his dick, his gag reflex rustily coming into play as he forces himself to take Toki all the way into the back of his mouth. The kid deserves a good blowjob after what happened earlier - he really does - and Pickles can feel his balls tighten as Toki moans in appreciation, losing control of his hips and thrusting forward. Pickles struggles to fall back gracefully as Toki literally facefucks him into the wall, gagging on his dick as his back hits the wall, his hand squeezing Toki's ass as he struggles to keep some control. His eyes are watering, but Toki's making these fucking hot noises, gasping and grunting, hissing, " _Så_ _bra, du er_ _så_ _god_ -"

            Pickles doesn't know what it means but it's making him _ache_. He gives up, dropping his hand down to his dick, fully aware of how much playing is going to fucking suck later -

            Toki grabs his dreads and tugs, his hips stilling, and Pickles looks up to see Toki looming over him the dark, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as he pants for air. " _No_ ," he gasps, and Pickles, god help him, _listens_ , lifting his hand to rest against the dip of Toki's hipbone instead. He swipes the broad side of his tongue along the head and doesn't break eye contact, taking in the entirety of Toki's breathless expression. When he rocks his hips, Pickles lets him, taking better to the slower pace, bobbing his head when he thinks he can take Toki in deeper. It only takes a minute before the hand pressing against the back of his head pushes him down, and Pickles breathes in through his nose when Toki lets loose a strangled yell, his cock twitching in Pickles' mouth just before he comes down the back of his throat. Pickles chokes and coughs but he'll be damned if he can't take a hit, swallowing and sucking until Toki shudders out a gasp and lets go of his head.

            When he looks up again, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, Toki is staring down at him as though he's a stranger, something bizarre and new that he's never seen before in his life. It's jarring, because up until now, Toki's never really looked at him like - well, like _that_.

            "Can I jerk off, now?" Pickles asks; he means it to be sarcastic, but with his throat fucked up the way it is, he sounds like he's begging. "Please," he rasps, and okay, yeah, he _is_ begging, because he's going to literally fucking bust a nut if he doesn't get to come soon, and Toki looks like he likes the control. Pickles is _more_ than willing to give that shit up, even if it means he has to risk getting pussied out on right now.

            "No," Toki says again, his voice absolutely lost against this situation. "Helps me with my skates."

            Pickles leaps on them, yanking harshly at the laces until they come loose. Toki puts a hand against the wall above Pickles' head and rests the ball of his foot against his thigh as Pickles pulls the skate off, staggering a little as he adjusts for the height difference. The other skate comes off just as easily and while Pickles doesn't have a thing for feet or anything, he can't help but realize that they're pretty fucking perfect too. He has to get pedicures regularly, or something. Pickles _really_ needs to get off.

            "Aw, god damn it, Toki," Pickles growls, " _Please_ , dude, I need t'fuckin' _come_ already!"

            Toki's bare foot lifts and Pickles has a vivid moment of déjà vu, leaning away until he realizes he's not about to get kicked in the face. The arch of his foot presses warm and heavy against Pickles' cock and rubs, and Pickles isn't desperate enough to hump his bandmate's _foot_.

            " _Oh_ , shit," he whines, slumping into the wall, hips jerking as he gives in and tries to hump Toki's foot. It's not the first time he's been in this situation, though usually there's some kind of music playing and also it's a chick using both feet, not his bandmate's, sweaty and awkwardly positioned. But, these are desperate times, and Pickles is capital-D desperate, so he'll deal with it.

            Toki's toes curl and Pickles groans, the head of his cock rubbing against the pads, all pretense of care leaving him as he struggles to just fucking _come_ already. He's distantly aware that he's making really unmanly noises, but it doesn't matter because he's so _close_ -

            "Can I," he hears himself stutter, and boy is this going to fuck things up later because he's repeating, "Can I -?"

            Toki blinks his wide eyes and then nods, hair bunched over one shoulder as he meets Pickles' stare. "Yes," he rasps, and then he's pressing more weight into his foot and Pickles grips his calf with both hands and grinds, gasping as his gut twists and he comes so hard his vision blurs. He's panting hard in the dark and now that the rush is over, he's starting to come down way too fast.

            "Oh," he says weakly. "Oooh, _boy_. That was fucked up."

            "No," Toki replies, but Pickles ignores him because _he_ got a blowjob and Pickles didn't even think twice about taking control of this situation. Toki wasn't the one who let himself be satisfied with a goddamn _footjob_.

            "I know fucked up when I see it," Pickles sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. Toki stands over him, hands loosely clenched against the wall, and he doesn't move even when Pickles tucks himself back into his jeans and bends forward to put a hand on the ground. "Whoo, boy, I know _exactly_ how that should'a gone an' I'm _pretty fuckin' sure_ this isn't how."

            Toki's quiet until Pickles is on his feet, still boxed in by strong arms on either side, and then he bears down, pressing his mouth against Pickles' in a way that begs reciprocation. They _definitely_ shouldn't be making out now. Show's over, libido's died down - this is supposed to be a graceful slip into the night, not the start of round two.

            _God_ , he's good with his mouth, though, and Pickles lets himself imagine that this _could_ be more - not, like, in a romantic sense, or anything, but Toki's got a nice dick and a sweet ass and they could _definitely_ work off the sexual frustration together. You know, if that weren't the worst idea in the history of mankind.

            Aw, _shit_. He should _know better_ by now.

            Pickles forces distance between them and Toki lets him, stumbling backwards to give him room. This is all weird and Pickles isn't drunk enough to handle it - if he wants to keep from losing his mind all over again, he's gotta go find something to knock his ass down. Vodka, scotch - angeldust? No, he doesn't have any of that. Shit. Weed! He needs to slug back some liquor and toke the fuck up before his libido comes back to bite him.

            "So, that was fun," he says, "An' it's never happenin' again, so, uh." He's not really sure how to talk to Toki right now, especially since he's doing that stupid fucking pouty-lip routine that Pickles is, unfortunately, _very bad_ at resisting. The safest thing now is to put some space between them and make sure his brain doesn't realize he's still got _months_ of repression to work through, so he just shrugs his shoulders helplessly and forces the door open enough for him to slip out into the corridor. He leaves the door cracked but Toki doesn't follow.

            The overheads are blinding after the pitch darkness and they highlight the fact that his pants are come-stained and he has a feeling his lips are swollen and puffy, so he books it back to his bunk. He's got a date with a handle of liquor - now he's feeling like rum, for some reason? - and the big fat spliff tucked in his underwear drawer to keep Nathan from finding it, and he is _not_ going to stand those ladies up.

            He has a very real feeling that he's going to try and fuck his pillow tonight, but shit, at least he can fantasize about Toki's ass while he's doing it.

* * *

 

            Okay, so.

            Toki has a plan.

            It's not a great plan. It's not even really _good_. But Toki is both prideful and desperate and he is _not_ leaving things with Pickles as they are. He owes his drummer better, and he's _capable_ of doing better, and...

            Well, he's _still_ really horny, so he's chasing the one port open to him even if it means risking Pickles' scorn. He can't be blamed, though, he thinks. If Murderface had been desperate enough to try and hump him in skates, Toki can be desperate enough to politely attempt to get his dick wet, so to speak.

            All he can hope is that the fat cinnamon roll he'd ordered from the kitchen will be enough to at least get him in the door. He's pretty sure that he can handle himself after that. And, even if he can't, maybe Pickles will take one look at the outline of his dick in his new cut-off shorts and jump him like Murderface did.

            One way or another, Toki is going to fuck his drummer, okay?

            The back of his neck is damp with sweat, but he's not about to put his hair back up again - not after everything the ponytail's caused - so he deals with it with a just a little bit of pouting. With any luck, it won't matter in about five minutes.

            He waffles outside Pickles' door for a good minute once he reaches it, holding the plate in one hand while his other hand bounces against his thigh, practicing a few knocks before he forces himself to pound a couple times on the door. There's no answer, so he tries again with a little less force, and eventually the deadbolt slides back and Pickles opens the door with a look on his face like he doesn't want to be disturbed. The look intensifies when he sees that it's Toki standing there.

            Before Pickles can say anything, he holds the plate out in front of him like an offering - which it is, really, since it's the best way to keep Pickles from slamming the door in his face. Pickles stares at the monstrous cinnamon roll, his eyes eventually peeling away to meet Toki's gaze.

            "I thoughts you mights likes one," he offers, trying not to wince at the way his voice wavers uncertainly on the words.

            "Holy shit, Toki," Pickles says, taking the plate and plastic fork as a grin spreads across his face. "Dude. _Dude_."

            He looks like he's going to cry. Toki can't help but feel his guts twist pleasantly at the overwhelming response to his dumb olive branch, and when he asks to come in, Pickles gestures with the fork before wandering towards his bed, already digging in. "They were just givin' these _out_?" he asks as Toki closes the door behind him, leaning back against it in relief. That had been the biggest hurdle, and here he is.

            "Yeps, just givings them aways," he sighs, knocking his fists against the door lightly before pushing away to wander further in. Pickles never was much for _stuff_ ; his room back home doesn't have much in it, and it looks like he hasn't brought _anything_ from home down here. Toki's room has model kits and paints and activity books and... and it's just a lot more cluttered than here. He wonders what Pickles does when he's alone - which is exactly what he shouldn't be thinking about, because the shorts he'd made aren't exactly hiding anything.

            Pickles moans around a mouthful of cinnamon roll, sitting heavily on his mattress. Toki tries not to think about how pornographic it sounds and fails miserably. "Toki, you are an _angel_ ," he sighs, and then he gives him a stern look. "But I'm _not_ suckin' yer dick again."

            "I don'ts wants you to," Toki replies honestly. He _doesn't_ want that. This isn't about _him_ \- well, it _is_ , but first and foremost, it's not about his _dick_. It's about his libido and his pride, and also about Pickles, who'd been so overly willing to help Toki out and got shitty reciprocation. ...And it's also about his dick, because he's been hard and aching for the past hour and a half, ever since Pickles ran out on him before he could say, _just gives me a minutes_.

            "Seriously, I shouldn't'a done it in the first place," Pickles continues, even with his mouth full and his dick already tenting in his pants. Toki should probably be concerned that Pickles is getting turned on by cinnamon rolls, but if he could down sugar like that again, he'd probably pop his fly too.

            "I don'ts wants you to's sucks my dicks," Toki repeats. He shifts. "I was justs - I didn'ts. I cans do's betters than thats." He sees Pickles slow eyebrow raise and the way he's glancing right past Toki to the door, and he fumbles over his words. He's not saying it right. "I... wants. To do's betters than thats. For yous. Yous, um. Deserves it, mores thans whats I gives you alreadies. But that ams what's the cinnamon rolls ams for. In case yous don'ts wants me to... um."

            Pickles slowly stops chewing and swallows, scrutinizing Toki with squinty eyes and a big frown on his face. Toki thinks he might be really overstepping his boundaries. "What are ya tryin' to get outta this?" Pickles asks finally. He sounds wary. There's probably only one right answer to that question, and Toki doesn't know that he knows it.

            "I... don'ts wants anythings," he says, and then he pauses because that's not _strictly_ true. "I means. I _wants_ to - you tolds me you wanted me to fucks you. I wants to do thats - how you wants me to."

            "Oh." Pickles licks his lips and Toki follows the tip of his tongue with his eyes eagerly. "Dude, Toki, ya don't have ta do that, like. We _shouldn't_ do that, anyway. You heard Nate - if any'a them found out, we'd be in... _serious_ shit, dude."

            "They won'ts find outs," Toki says. "And I don'ts _haves_ to does anythings. I ams sayings it because I wants to says it. If yous don'ts wants me here, or talkings abouts it, I cans go. But..." Well, time for the reasoning stage. "If we ams boths hornies and boths okays with its, why _nots_ fucks around?"

            "Because ya don't fuck yer bandmates, dude."

            "Says who?" Toki asks. "Nathans ams too into the girls to knows hows it reallies works."

            Pickles hesitates. Toki almost takes a step forward, but he stops himself; he _promised_ himself he'd let Pickles be one-hundred-percent in control of the situation, since whenever Toki is in charge, things kind of... go _weird_.

            "Dude - uh. ...Aw, fuck it. I got inta some shit with my guitarist back in the day and it didn't end well, yanno, so, like. Says _me_. I don't need another guitarist gettin' off on me. I... really don't need another band goin' belly-up 'cos I can't. Yanno. Keep it in my pants, or whatever."

            Toki chews his lip, unaware that he's doing it until he realizes that Pickles' eyes are fixated on his mouth. Then, he does it because he likes the way Pickles is looking at him. "Wells... I don'ts wants to breaks up the bands." He hesitates, and then he steps forward; Pickles' shoulders tense, but he's still got some pastry left and he doesn't look _completely_ unwilling, so Toki continues to slowly approach. "But..." He tilts his head, the way Skwisgaar does it whenever he's talking to a hot chick. "I wants to fucks."

            Pickles licks his lips again, slower, and Toki knows he's pretty much won because he can see Pickles pushing his feet against the carpet like he wants to launch himself on him. Unless someone comes banging on the door in the next minute, Toki's pretty sure he's going to get what he wants.

            What they both want. Whatever, he's horny and tired of _being_ horny and he knows Pickles is too.

            "Puts the skinimons buns away," Toki says, and Pickles drops it on the side table without a second glance. Toki's gut twists because - well. Pickles is really good at following orders, which is... really good. Toki really likes that. The way he keeps looking at Toki is good too, kind of like he's waiting for Toki to make the first move. He'd wanted to give Pickles all the lead, but...

            Fuck it, Toki decides, coming up into Pickles' personal space and watching the way his eyes rake up his chest, like he hasn't seen Toki's abs up close and personal before. He's not sure if he should say something or not. An hour ago, talking hadn't been a priority, but now...?

            "You mights wants to moves back," he says, and Pickles swallows and does exactly that, sliding across the mattress until there's room for Toki to follow, climbing over the sheets until his hands pin Pickles' hips, sliding down his thighs as he pushes between them. They're wearing too much clothing, but Toki's on a mission to prove he's better than a footjob in the dark, so he'll deal with that when it's time.

            He's not trying to be tender or romantic or anything, but Toki still winds up kissing Pickles slow and carefully, not wanting to freak him out or force him to second-guess this. He tastes like sugar and cinnamon, too, and since Toki can't usually have cinnamon rolls, he can't help but take his time licking the flavor from Pickles' mouth. For his part, Pickles lets him go slow, licking Toki's lips and sliding his hands up over his shoulders; it must get boring for him after a bit though, because all at once Pickles is growling into his mouth and pulling Toki down on top of him, heaving a heavy breath as Toki settles his weight over him. His teeth bite Toki's lip and Toki gives up on the slow and steady part, because they're both convinced and they're too turned on to take it slow.

            Toki's hand slides across Pickles' thigh and finds his fly, popping the button and sliding the zipper over the teeth; Pickles grinds up into his hand, twisting his hands into Toki's hair and not saying anything about the sweat. He starts making the same gasping, needy noises he'd made in the storage room and Toki eats them up, holding himself up by his knees as he uses both hands to pull Pickles' pants down, squirming over him as he maneuvers them down past their tangled legs. Pickles bites his lip _hard_ , then lets his head fall back against the mattress.

            "Sorry," he rasps. "Got a lil'. Uh. Bitey."

            "It's okays," Toki replies, smiling because, "I likes it."

            "Oh."

            Pickles looks eagerly surprised and Toki grins wide, because of _course_ nobody thinks he likes getting bit. He's usually kind of a wimp about pain - he knows, okay? - but... well. Everyone's got their thing, and when it's on purpose, a little pain can be pretty great.

            "Is there somethings you likes?" he asks, ignoring Pickles' cock as he slides his hands up Pickles' stomach, under his shirt. Pickles breathes through his mouth and closes his eyes.

            "Nah," he mumbles. "Yer doin' fine."

            Toki _knows_ that's bullshit, but he doesn't call him out on it. They aren't trying to learn each other's kinks here - even if Pickles kicks his leg a little when Toki leans down to suck on his earlobe.

            Eventually, Toki has to pull his teeth and lips away from Pickles' ear, even if his reedy whines are like music to him; he's got to get his shirt off, and his shorts, and Pickles is staring at him with big eyes, his fingers pressing against the flat planes of his abs.

            "Jesus, Toki," he says. Toki grins and reaches for the hem of Pickles' shirt, pulling it over his head quick and easy. He does the same with his own shirt, and Pickles presses his dick against the denim of Toki's shorts and groans. " _Jesus_."

            Toki rolls his hips and Pickles shuts his eyes tight, hands desperately sliding from Toki's chest to his hips and then to his fly, popping the button with a definite air of being really fucking done with waiting. Toki willingly finishes the job, sliding out of his shorts and tossing them into the pile of clothes growing at the edge of the mattress, and though he knows it's bad for his wrist, he can't help but wrap one hand around their dicks, sitting on his knees to watch Pickles squirm under him. He wonders how long it would take for Pickles to beg again.

            "Lube," Pickles gasps, which isn't exactly a _please fuck me,_ but Toki's not super picky. He follows Pickles' desperately waving hand and slides away from him to dig through the bag tucked at the bottom of the side table; most of them pretty much put anything that might tempt them to jack off out of sight, and Toki's not surprised to find lube and cock rings and condoms - which, okay, he _is_ surprised by those - tossed into the bag like a bunch of dirty little secrets. He'd ask about the toys, but honestly, there's just not enough patience in him for it.

            He drops the bottle next to Pickles and takes a second to kick the clothes off the bed. When he looks back, he finds Pickles pressing wet fingers into his ass, back curled and feet bracing him up. Toki can't help but stare; Pickles is a lot more limber than he'd thought, and the way he's clenching a fist into the sheets as he stretches himself, eyes fixated on what he's doing instead of on Toki - it's. It's really nice.

            Toki swallows thickly and Pickles looks at him, grinning crookedly before dropping his head back and pulling his fingers out. "I know what I'm doin'," is all he says.

            Toki pulls his legs until they're draped on either side of him; he bites his lip as Pickles reaches for his dick, stroking him with a wet palm and a mostly straight wrist. This isn't like in the storage room, where it was dark and fast and all about getting off as quickly as possible. Sure, Toki's not planning on taking his time - he's actually aching for the moment when he can say fuck you to patience - but he can clearly see the way Pickles looks at him now, the way his stomach moves while his chest heaves, the way his mouth doesn't quite close because he can't stop panting.

            "That's enoughs," Toki mumbles, pushing Pickles' hand away from him. He feels Pickles' knees squeeze his sides as he lurches over him, and he doesn't know how to feel about the way they lock eyes as Toki sinks into him. All he can see is Pickles' stuttering breaths, his eyes lidding as he grabs Toki's biceps and squeezes. He almost asks if he's going too fast, but he honestly doesn't want to know the answer.

            "Oh, _shit_ ," Pickles breathes. Toki's hips jerk and all Toki can think about is the tightness wrapped around his dick, bringing all his thoughts to a grinding halt outside of _move, **more**_.

            He waits, just a few seconds, until Pickles is shuddering under him with pent up energy. "You wants me to moves?" he asks.

            " _Yes_ ," Pickles almost snarls. Toki stays quiet, watching Pickles' face as he looks up at Toki and furrows his brow - and then the little lamplight in his head goes on, and he shudders. "Please?" he offers.

            "Mm," Toki hums, rolling his hips for a few short, shallow thrusts that are making him feel just as fucked up as Pickles looks. "Maybes, mm, coulds be betters."

            Pickles laughs, a short burst of unbelieving hysterics, and then he arches his back and uses that voice he'd used in the hallway to breathe, " _Please_ , c'mon, fuck me."

            His body responds to Pickles' voice before he can think, thrusting shallowly for a split second before he manages to pull further out, feeling Pickles' knees tighten against his sides as he fucks him without rhythm. His brain's short-circuited; all he can do is rock his hips and throw his weight into every thrust. Pickles' hands tighten on his biceps and then climb up to his hair, winding thick locks into his fists before pulling Toki down to clack their teeth together again. It's sloppy and Toki can't stop grunting into Pickles' mouth, but his drummer doesn't seem to give a shit. He realizes Pickles is trying to muffle his voice as he yelps into his mouth, hips struggling to find some kind of rhythm against Toki's. He bites Toki's lip again and Toki growls, which just makes Pickles arch his back and hook one leg across the small of Toki's back.

            " _Harder_ ," he manages to say, and Toki pulls at his shoulders until there's no room between them. When he angles his thrusts now, they're deep and heavy, and Pickles shoves his wrist between his teeth to muffle his moans. Toki brushes a thumb across his jugular as he fucks him, feeling Pickles' pulse leap with every thrust. Pickles groans and pulls his hand away - for a moment, he hesitates, and then his hand falls on top of the one Toki has resting at the joint between his shoulder and neck.

            "Uh," Pickles starts. Toki almost doesn't hear it until Pickles continues, "Put some pressure..."

            He trails off with uneven gasps and Toki stares at him, his distraction making his hips still until Pickles screws his eyes shut and says, "Just - fuckin', _do it_ , okay?"

            He sounds embarrassed. Toki traces his jugular again, feeling his pulse leap a little, and then he smiles and does what he's asked, wrapping his hand loosely around Pickles' neck before pressing down, rolling his hips as he does it. Pickles gasps, and then his body twitches and bucks like he's being tasered as Toki starts thrusting into him again, his pulse leaping as Toki bears down just a little more on his neck.

            "Ah -"

            "Hits me if I goes too's fars," Toki mumbles, and Pickles trembles and nods, sucking in air as Toki lets up for just a moment before getting both of his hands around Pickles' neck. He sobs a little and jerks around, completely failing to establish any kind of rhythm between them. Toki doesn't care. He doesn't give a shit. All he cares about right now is Pickles' muscles tightening around him, his cock bouncing between them, leaking precome across Toki's abs, and the way he struggles for breath like it's the best thing he's ever had to do.

            "I'm," Pickles stammers, and Toki can feel him squirming. " _Please_ ," he whines, and Toki's not sure if it's to him or the universe, but he listens anyway, pressing his hands into Pickles' throat and getting just enough weight onto his knees to pound into him. Three more thrusts and Pickles sobs, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he fails to get enough breath to hold him through his orgasm, coming across their stomach with frantic, twisting hip thrusts.

            Toki lets go of his throat because he doesn't want him to pass out, and then he presses down against him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as he fucks his spasming body until he comes, snarling and biting his arm to keep from leaving a deep gouge in Pickles' neck.

            His hips don't quite get the memo that they're done until he gets a hold of himself, pushing off of Pickles and pulling out with a distinctly unhappy noise. Pickles stares up at him like he's something wild or weird, and then he sighs and scrubs his face with a hand.

            "Grab my cigarettes," he rasps, gesturing to the side table again. Toki does what he's asked without a word - something about Pickles' tone makes him feel uncomfortable, like he's fucked up somehow. He drops the pack next to Pickles and hesitates - is he supposed to leave, now? Shit. Did he fuck up?

            "Was that...?" he tries to ask, but the question trails off when Pickles grabs the cigarettes and pulls two out, holding one out for Toki to take.

            Pickles waits until he's lit his cigarette to answer the obvious question hanging on Toki's tongue, handing him the lighter as he says with a faint laugh, "Dude, that was fine."

            "Oh," Toki says. He lights up and sits back, both of them completely ignoring the mess they've made in favor of... whatever this is. Toki thinks it's what Nathan calls pillow talk. He's not sure if that's limited to groupies, or what, though. "Ares you sures?"

            Pickles rolls his eyes and puts a hand to his throat as he sucks on his cigarette. "Toki, I haven't gotten laid in fuckin' months. That shit was fuckin' _divine_. I'd probably tell Skwisgaar he's got nothin' on ya, if we weren't sworn ta secrecy here."

            Toki's ego swells at the comparison. "Reallies?"

            "I mean, I've never fucked the guy so I can't say fer sure, but yeah, probably."

            Well. That's more than Toki was expecting to hear. He lets himself be smugly silent for a few minutes as they smoke. He wonders if he should say anything about the biting or the choking, or if he should suggest they keep fucking around until they pass out, because while that would be _great_ , he doesn't know if he's really proven himself to be worth that much effort.

            "...I didn'ts wants you to thinks I was justs some jacksoffs," Toki finally says, once his cigarette is burned to the filter and he's found a half-empty can of beer to put it out in. "What's only knows hows to takes and nots gives."

            Pickles laughs. His voice isn't so scratchy, but he hasn't tried clearing his throat yet so it's still got a rasp to it. "Seriously, Toki?"

            "Wells," he huffs, "You lefts fasts. I thoughts you mights haves gotten the wrongs ideas."

            Pickles leans forward and drops his cigarette into the empty, pausing to pat Toki on the cheek with mild affection before dropping back onto the mattress. "Dude, considerin' you didn't kick me in the face, you were _already_ heads above the last guitarist I fucked. Not gonna complain about yer tryin' to prove otherwise, though. Whew."

            Toki cringes at that. He can't imagine doing something like that - not to anybody, but _especially_ not to Pickles. He ignores the sweat and heat and their general grossness to crawl on top of Pickles, bracing himself on his knees and elbows so he won't smother the other. For a moment, Pickles looks deeply concerned.

            "Ifs anybodies kicks you in the face, I'll beats the shits out of them," he says.

            "Ya say that, but if Nate hears about this, _you_ might be the one gettin' the shit beaten outta you."

            That's something Toki hadn't considered. He thinks about it for a minute while Pickles messes with his hair, and then he shrugs. "Worth it," he says. "Do's you wants to goes again?"

            Pickles purses his lips. "I think I'm gonna need a minute," he finally says, a grin slowly starting to grow. "But, yanno. Who else am I gonna do?" He pauses, and then makes a face. "Think I'm gonna need a shower."

            Toki grins back and licks his lips. "I thinks," he says, "I mights needs one too's."

            He has a pretty good feeling they won't make it to the bathroom any time soon, but Toki doesn't care. After all, he's gotten what he wants. Who cares if they get filthy in the process?


End file.
